


Language X: Song of Sacrifice

by Whitehat2018



Series: New Mutants: Children of the Atom [2]
Category: New Mutants, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, X-Men References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitehat2018/pseuds/Whitehat2018
Summary: From the aftermath of The New Magus Saga comes a series of stories involving Doug Ramsey!  The X-Men's ultimate underdog will travel the world, having adventures and tying up loose ends!The dust from the Ru'Tai invasion of New York has barely settled, before Kitty Pryde sends Cypher to the United Kingdom to help out an old friend who's trying to put a stop to a rash of supernatural attacks!  Doug comes to terms with another lifetime while he and Alistaire Stuart join forces to stop a terrible Barghest.  It's weird happenings all around...And where there are weird happenings, Pete Wisdom and MI-13 are never far behind!





	Language X: Song of Sacrifice

_When you can’t go home_  
_No matter what you say_  
_Can’t go home_  
_They’ve gone and took it all away_  
_Can’t go home_  
_To taste the dirt is what I yearn for_  
_The ones who’ve gone, let’s sing a song_  
_Never to return_

-Scythian, “Song of Sacrifice”

               _“Doug, a good friend of mine needs a favor.  He’ll explain in more detail when he picks you up at Heathrow, but a para-entity has been killing people in London, and he needs a Mutant with extra-perceptive powers to track it.  I figured this was right up your alley, so I’m letting him borrow you.  I’m sorry I can’t come with, but don’t worry… I’m sending a chaperone who knows the country really well.  Honestly I think he’s just looking forward to the chance to take a break from the kids for a few days!_

_All my love,_

_-Kitty_

               Doug looked down at the little purple dragon strapped into the airplane seat next to him, and murmured “You doing good, Lockheed?  You need another bottle of scotch?”

               “#$%!” Lockheed said, as he clinked the ice in his glass from side to side in one purple claw.

               “You’re good?”  Doug sipped his ginger ale.  “Cool.”

               When the plane landed, Doug stepped out into the terminal, with Lockheed perched on his shoulder.

               “#$%!”  Lockheed grumbled.

               “Generally you stop at the duty free when you _leave_ the country,”  Doug said.  “Also, watch your mouth.”

               The man who waved at him was tall and skinny, handsome in an affable kind of way, with loose brown hair and an argyle pattern sweater vest.  When he spoke, he had a Scottish accent thick as butter.  “Hallo!  Dougie Ramsey!”  He waved his arm.

               “Oh hey, there he is.”  Doug waved, and approached.  “Mr. Stuart!”

               “Alistaire, lad!”  Alistaire Stuart gripped Doug’s hand in both of his, and shook it enthusiastically.  “A pleasure, a _real_ pleasure.  I’ve sent the lads to pick up your bag, the car’s this way.”  He gestured.  “Courtesy of Her Majesty the Queen via MI-6, with her sincerest gratitude.”

               “Wow.”  Doug said, “I’m not used to people giving me the red carpet treatment.”

               Lockheed grumbled.

               “Oh come on,”  Doug said.

               “You can understand Lockheed?”  Alistaire said, looking between Doug and the dragon.

               “Oh, yeah.”  Doug said.  “He can speak English, actually, he just prefers that most people not know what he’s saying.”

               Lockheed smirked, and his tail waved, lazily, before he murmured in Doug’s ear.

               “He’d like some Laphroag for the car ride.”  Doug added.

               “In a bit of a rough mood, eh?”  Alistaire said, rubbing his hands together.  “Well, you know, I might be up for a nip myself.  Ever had Laphroag, lad?” 

               “I’m not really a scotch drinker.”  Doug said.

               “Well I wouldn’t start with it then,”  Alistaire replied, his eyes twinkling, “It’s a bit like drinking paint thinner that’s been marinating a burnt mossy stump.”

               Lockheed licked his chops and nodded, enthusiastically.  “!”

               “Well then!”  Alistaire said, “Let’s be off.  I’ll brief you on the way.”

               “Is MI6 putting us up in a hotel?”  Doug asked, as they made their way out of the terminal and to a waiting car—he noted, silently, that it was a black Rolls-Royce.

               “Actually, _no_.”  Alistaire said, as they climbed into the back seat, and the car pulled away.  “While I was taking breakfast with a friend of mine, I casually mentioned Kitty was sending you to help me out, and his reaction, quite frankly, bloody _startled_ me a bit.  He _insisted_ that he be the one to put you up.  Said he’d be well and truly _peeved_ if you came and went and he didn’t get a chance to see you.”

               “Oh.”  Doug said.  “Huh.”

               “It’s a bit of a drive, but we’re going to cheat.  Parks, activate the Seven League Drive.”  The driver nodded, and hit a button on a console.  The car didn’t seem to accelerate at all.

               Doug’s eyes dilated.  “Woah.  That’s _weird_ , Alistaire.”  He blinked.

               “Picking up on that, hm?  It’s an old Welsh wizard’s trick, taking advantage of object impermanence to move a bit faster during the instants where nobody’s looking.”  Alistaire smirked.  “I came up with the theory, and all told, I’m pretty proud of it.  Anyway, the reason we’ve called you here is a Black Dog – a Barghest.  They appear from time to time, but this one’s popping up in Glasgow proper.  All the ambient Para-Psychic Energy’s making tracking it with our usual tools impossible, I’m afraid.  I asked Kitty if she had anyone to share who could help us track it, and she said you were just the man for the job.”

               Doug raised an eyebrow, and then says, “I usually frame my power as omnilinguistics because that’s how it first manifested, but I can do pattern recognition as well, including reality disruptions.  So I might be able to follow whatever signs the Barghest leaves behind it and track it.  I’ll be able to tell you more when I investigate a site where it’s manifested.”

               As the drive went on, Alistaire rolled a glass of scotch in his hand.  “You know, Dougie, it’s really _uncanny_ , the way he looked and acted _just like you_.”

               Doug looked up, from where he’d been gazing out the window.  “Who?”

               “Douglock.  He had all your mannerisms down, from the way your shoulders move when you talk to the subtle tics in your facial expression.  I can understand why Kitty swore up down and sideways for _ages_ that he actually was you.”

               Doug turned his head and looked out the window again. 

               “How is he, anyway?”  Alistaire asked.  “Warlock, I mean.  He was absolutely fascinating, and a decent fellow besides.”

               “Oh!”  Doug looked up and smiled.  “He’s doing well.  He sends his regards, actually… he would’ve come with me but one of our friends is in a low place after his marriage fell apart, and Warlock doesn’t want to leave him alone for long.  He worries.”

               “Well, when you get home, give him mine back.  And my Discord.”  Alistaire paused, and said, “Here we are!  You’ll see it just as soon as we round this bend in the road.”

               Doug looked up, as they turned, and a towering lighthouse emerged from behind a cliff.  “Holy cats.  That’s…”  He squinted, “One, two, three, four, five…”

               “Counting the dimensions it exists in?”  Alistaire said, with a laugh.  “That’s Braddock Lighthouse, lad!  And since the master of the estate’s put out what is no doubt a _glorious_ high tea for us, I see absolutely no reason to keep him waiting.”

               When the car pulled up to the gravel drive, Alistaire leaned in to the driver.  “I’ll be spending the evening here, so head back to the office.  Telephone the Lighthouse if anything comes up, Cellular service is… unreliable, inside, so I’ll turning mine off.”  He asided to Doug, “It’s so _vexing_ to get phone calls from another Earth.”

               Doug gave the lighthouse a bemused look.  “I can imagine.”

               Alistaire grinned, and then climbed out of the car, as Doug followed behind and opened the trunk to get his luggage.  “HALLO, THE LIGHTHOUSE!”  He gestured to Doug, as he headed up the drive and then up the front steps.

               The man who greeted them was a giant, blond and bearded, dressed in a comfortable white shirt and dark slacks. 

               “Brian, I think you know—”

               Brian Braddock gently brushed Alistaire aside, and then grabbed Doug in a bear hug, sweeping him off the ground.  “DOUG RAMSEY!  As I live and BREATHE.  As YOU live and breathe.”  As Doug’s suitcase dropped from his hand, Lockheed swooped and caught it.

               Doug’s back popped, audibly, as Brian pinned his arms to his side and lifted him into the air.  “Hurf!  …Hi, Brian.  It’s good to see you too.”

               Brian swung Doug around again, before neatly putting him down.  “Now, I want to make it clear as crystal that the thought of you staying in a hotel when you’re in the UK offends me, deeply.  As far as I’m concerned, lad, Braddock Lighthouse is your home away from home.  You can stay here when you like, as long as you like, and the staff’ll treat you like you were my brother.  And that’s just as well, because between you and my brother, I vastly prefer you.”  He patted Doug’s shoulder, staggering him.  “Now come along, or the tea’ll get cold.”

               In the dining room, the table was laid out for three with a silver tea service waiting nearby on a tray.  Alistaire promptly overloaded his plate, piling it high with fish and saffron rice and a slice of cold pork pie.  Doug scooted his chair in, and poured himself a cup of tea before loading it with lemon and sugar.  Lockheed perched on his shoulder, and grumbled.  “Lockheed says he’d like brandy with his tea.”  Doug said.   Lockheed grumbled again, and Doug added, “Stravecchio, if you have any open.”

               Brian gestured, and an invisible footman levitated a bottle out for Lockheed to inspect.  The dragon leaned in, nodded once, and then the bottle bobbed and poured a generous measure into his cup, over which Lockheed poured the tea.

               “It’s grand to have you here, Doug.”  Brian said, as Doug selected a meat-pie from a tray and cut into it.  “I’m sorry that Meggan’s out of town, she’s always wanted to meet this Earth’s version of you.  I always told her in all the worlds the Corps watches over, I’ve never met a man quite like you.”

               Doug opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it with a snap when he felt a tug on his leg.  He looked down at an infant girl, who had hold of his jeans.  “Hi.”  The girl said.  “I’m Maggie.  I like you.  Pick me up?”

               “Aha!”  Brian said, “I see you’ve met the real head of the household.  Doug, that’s my daughter Maggie.  Maggie, that’s…”  He raises an eyebrow, “How does ‘Uncle Douglas’ sound to you, Doug?”

               “Formal.”  Doug said, before he reached down and lifted Maggie up, setting her in his lap. 

Maggie looked up at Lockheed, and said “I know you’re here to keep Uncle Doug away from him, Lockheed, but you don’t have to worry – he can handle Pete Wisdom.  I can tell.”

               Alistaire cleared his throat, and Brian looked overstuffed, for a moment.  Lockheed snorted, but gave the little girl a fond look.

               Doug raised an eyebrow, and then cut another piece of his meat pie.  “So, confession time, guys.  I have Douglock’s memories.  There’s an… abstraction to them, I guess, a lack of emotional attachment – it’s like remembering a movie you watched,  and knowing how the character felt… but only experiencing those emotions yourself through human empathy.”  He chewed, and then added, “So I know that Douglock thought very highly of you, Alistaire, and that he shared my feelings about you, Brian… and that he didn’t fear Pete Wisdom, but he knew that he was really dangerous.”  He raised his teacup to his lips.  “Kitty doesn’t talk about him, and I know why… but it’s not my place to talk about how Kitty feels.”  He lowered his cup.  “I’ve read MI-13’s files.”

               Alistaire choked on a bite of fish,  After a moment, he wiped his mouth with his napkin, and then took a quick gulp of tea.  “Really.  You got past the glyph encryption and the hex trap coding?  MI-6 has been trying to get into MI-13’s files for years.  To be frank.”

               “…It’s kind of what I do.”  Doug admitted.  “I’m not going to be a playing piece in a chess game between British intelligence agencies, Alistaire,”  Doug said, “But I can confirm, MI-13 is also trying to track down the Barghest.  So the odds that we’ll run into Pete Wisdom are… very, very good.”

               “Right.”  Alistaire said.  “He and I had a falling out some time ago, and I’ve never been able to make it right.  Since then, we compete as often as we work together.  He’s got carte blanche to investigate this from the paranormal angle, and I’m approaching it from the angle that the Barghest has been almost exclusively killing Syrian refugees.  I’ve prepared a file for you, and I’ll have it sent up to your room.   Steel yourself, Dougie – the photographs are graphic.”

               “I’ll cope.”  Doug said, “But thank you for the warning.”  He jogged Maggie on his lap, lightly.

               “So it was never really clear to me how you two know one another so well.”  Alistaire said, over his teacup.  “Which of you would like to tell me the story?”

               Brian frowned at the memory.  “You’re familiar with Mojo, Alistaire.”

               Alistaire grimaced in distaste.  “Oh yes, the interdimensional television producer.  Great ghastly thing.  Betsy had a ruck and run-in with him a long time ago, didn’t she?  The ‘Wildways’ incident.”

               “Yes.”  Brian said.  “I went looking for her after she was taken, and they got the drop on me – Mojo and his _witch_ , Spiral.  It was Doug here who reminded me of who I really was and what I’m all about.  And then he and Warlock took the fight to Spiral and saved Betsy.  Don’t let Doug’s mild exterior fool you, Alistaire.  I’ve never met a more tenacious, more fearless, more _ballsy_ man in my life.”

               Doug cleared his throat, and flushed, slightly.  “Warlock did the heavy lifting.”

               “It was a dual effort and you know it.”  Brian said.  “You play down your own accomplishments too easily, lad.”

               Maggie looked up.  “You are very brave.  I would like a piggy-back ride.  Give me one, please.”

               Doug smiled, and let out a sigh, and then moved to sling Maggie onto his shoulders, dislodging Lockheed, who settled on the back of the chair.  “I’ve never been able to refuse a lady.”

               Later on in the evening, Doug retired to his room.  “Figures.  It’s a _suite_ ,”  He said, as he unlaced his sneakers, and then casually stripped down.   A pair of pajamas and a dressing-gown had been laid out for him, and he dressed in them, before he walked into the bedroom, and stopped at the sight of the king-size bed.  “Incredible.”  With some effort, he crawled into the middle of it and sat on top of the covers, before he flipped through the photos.  His eyes ticked over witness reports, photos of the Barghest’s victims, and he shuffled through them.  He quietly laid the information out on the bed, and silently traced the connections between them.  After a time, he set the file and the dressing-gown aside, and doused the light.

               In the dark, he dreamed.

               _‘Why are ya just standin’ there?’_

_‘Ah told ya, Rahnie, that ain’t Doug Ramsey—not the guy WE knew…’_

_‘…Not the friend we loved.’_

               _‘Cause Doug died on my watch!  Ah was leadin’ the New Mutants when he was… when you were… that makes me responsible for everything that happened afterwards.’_

_‘The Phalanx have nothing left to live for.  They have no reason to exist.  I do.’_

               He awoke in a cold sweat, and then sat up.  He pulled on the dressing-gown, found a pair of soft slippers on the floor, and stepped out of the room.

               The interior of the Lighthouse was like a labyrinth, vastly larger on the inside than it was on the outside.  A human without Doug’s powers would have gotten lost; but he instinctively put together the connections between dimensions, the shifting layout of the floorplan.   But he wasn’t looking for anything—not really.

               Eventually he found a spot that appealed, and stopped to rest.  The observation deck looked out over an Earth that wasn’t his own.  The sea was wine-purple and dark, and beasts very much like hairy pterodactyls wheeled and gamboled in the sky, lit by an endless swirl of creamy stars.

               “I’ve always liked this view, myself,”  Brian said, approaching from behind.  “One of the Brownies woke me up, and said they saw you wandering this way.”  He leaned on the railing next to Doug.  “Can’t sleep?”

               “This place is bringing Douglock’s memories to the fore, that’s all.  I experience the emotions attached to them most vividly when I dream, you know?  But I’ve never had one that vivid before.  It just—”  He shakes his head.  “Sam and Rahne wanted him to be me _so badly_.”

               “So did Kitty.  So did Betsy.  So did I, for that matter.  We all loved you.  And now you’re among us again.  Do you want to talk about it?”  Brian looked over to Doug.  “Friend to friend.”

               “I feel lost, sometimes, that’s all.”  Doug said, as the wind ruffled his hair.  “Like I have no place, no _home_.  The school I knew is long gone… and objectively I know it’d be better if my parents went on believing me dead.  I caved and went back to my—their house.  Someone else lived there.  I could find them—but I just don’t have the heart.”  Tears trickled down Doug’s cheeks, unnoticed.  “I felt like I had a place in San Francisco, but that didn’t last.”

               Brian considered this for a time, and then said “Stay here.  Live in Braddock Lighthouse with Meggan and Maggie and I.  We’d love to have you, Doug.” 

               Doug looked out over the sea, and said nothing.

               Brian wrinkled his nose.  “I don’t need your powers to tell what you’re thinking.  Doug Ramsey, how dare you think anyone would ever see you as a burden or a liability.  Put that thought out of your bloody mind this instant!”

               Doug blinked, taken aback.  “Brian—”

               “Doug, for such a smart man, sometimes you miss what’s right in front of you.  As intricate and amazing as it is, without a family to make it a home this lighthouse is just a worthless pile of rocks.  Would you want to be back at the Xavier School as it was when you were a boy if the people you love weren’t there?  Of course not!  You’re looking for home in the wrong places, lad.”  He placed a hand on Doug’s shoulder, and gripped.  “Home is in the eyes and arms of the people who love you.  So when I extend an offer to live here, I mean it.  Whenever you’re in the UK, Braddock Lighthouse is your home.  That great cavern of a suite I put you up in is your set of rooms, and it’s going to stay yours.  We have it to spare.  It doesn’t matter whether you leave tomorrow or ten years from tomorrow.”

               “That means a lot to me, Brian.”  Doug said, wiping the drying tears from his face.  “Thank you.”

               “I imagine if you looked in the eyes of Betsy or Kitty or Rahne you’d find home there, too.”  Brian added.  “Quit running away, boy.”  He pushed himself up.  “I’m going to go back to sleep.  You do the same.  I’ll see you at breakfast.”

               “…Right, Brian.  I’m just going to stay here and take in the view a little while longer.”

               Brian paused, in the doorway.  “Oh, and Doug?  The people who love you?  _Let them_.  Take it from me, that’s the only way to live.”

               Doug looked away and out at the beasts gamboling through the air, and smiled.

               The next morning, Doug came down to the table, holding the dossier.  “I think I’ve figured something out.”  He tossed it down onto the table.  “Also, good morning, everyone!”

               “Tea?”  Brian asked, as the pot floated nearby.

               “Coffee, please.”  Doug said, before the pot returned to the tray and was replaced by a French press.  “Thank you.”  He loaded his cup up with cream and sugar.

               Lockheed looked up from a biscuit, and grumbled.

               “Funny you should say that,”  Doug said.  “MI-6 is right, Alastaire.  This is a hate crime.  The Barghest is acting on somebody else’s behalf, but their control over it isn’t total.  That’s why the landlady and the police officer both got killed.  They each tried to protect the Black Dog’s victim and it turned on them.  But there’s also a common thread tying all the victims together.”

               “What’s that?”  Alastaire said, while he buttered a slice of toast.

               “Well, that’s what I don’t have the complete picture of.  It’s little things; the times they arrived in the UK, that they all went to Glasgow.  They didn’t know one another, they didn’t attend the same mosque, they didn’t even use the same bus or cab routes.  There’s something _I_ can’t see.”

               “So the investigation’s run into another dead-end?”  Brian asked.

               “No, not at all.”  Doug said.  “I know, logically, where we can get the missing piece of the puzzle.  The problem is…”

               Lockheed set his biscuit down, and grumbled, audibly.

               “I don’t see how I have a choice.”  Doug said.

               Alistaire pinched the bridge of his nose.  “He doesn’t answer my texts,”  He said, “But then again I’m not sure Pete actually knows how to use a Smartphone.”

               “You’re not going after him the right way.”  Doug said.  “Don’t use the subtle enticement.  You drag him out, kicking and screaming.  When you leave him a message, tell him if he’s not willing to play ball, it’ll get back to Kitty Pryde that he dangled innocent lives over the pit for the sake of his ego.”

               Brian lowered his teacup back to his saucer with a clink.  “ _Bastard move_ , Doug.”  He slid a crumpet onto Doug’s plate.  “Well done.”

               When they got to the Mayfly Pub that evening, a soaking rain was coming down.  “I love these countryside taverns,”  Alistaire said to Doug, as he stepped under the awning and shook out his umbrella, “Farmers and townsfolk having their end of the day pint, meaningless stories told in incomprehensible accents –“

               The tavern was empty, except for one man drinking alone at a table by the fire.  He was saturnine, dark, with a day’s growth of stubble and hair that somehow managed to be neatly-combed and disheveled at the same time.  His suit was trim and impeccable, and still somehow managed to look disreputable.

               “Mr. Wisdom.”  Doug said, as he pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.  “Thank you for meeting with us.”

               Pete Wisdom drained his glass, and then set it down on the table upside down.  “…So here you are, the genuine article.”  He held up a finger.  “Top me up, Jenny.  And it’s just Pete, Dougie.  Mr. Wisdom indicates a formal relationship.”  He looked up at Alistaire, and gestured.  “Mr. Stuart.  Have a seat.”

               Doug held out the dossier.  “MI-6’s file.”

               Pete took it and flipped through it.  “What’ve you found out, kid?”

               “The landlady and the policeman paid the price for trying to do the right thing.”  Doug said.

               “Isn’t that always the way of it?”  Pete said.  “You’d know, wouldn’t you.”  He grunted.  “Mind if I smoke?”

               “It’s your asset.”  Doug said, looking around the pub.

               “Good eye.”  Pete grunted, before he peeled open a fresh pack of cigarettes and shook one out.  He stuck it in his mouth and lit it with a fingertip.  “What’re you drinking?”

               “I’ll have a coke.”  Doug said.

               “Ah, Guinness.”  Alistaire said.

               “Right.”  Pete held up his finger to the bartender again and pointed to the two of them.

               “As I was saying,” Doug said, “I can see a connection between the victims, I’m just missing a piece.  I thought MI-13 might have it, or at least be able to help me find it.  You’ve seen my notes.”

               “If we can stop the Barghest, the why of it won’t matter.”  Pete replied.  “The trick is, figuring out who it’s going to hit next.”

               Doug took out his phone.  “Way ahead of you.  The next victim’s name is Mohammed ibn Hassan, 22, working as a shop clerk while he takes night classes. He came here with his mother.  Father and older brothers were killed in the fighting.”

               “You’re sure he’s the next victim?”  Pete asked, studying the image on the phone.

               “All the connections point to it.”  Doug said.  “And it’ll go after him soon.”

               “Score one for British intelligence and an American loaner, then,”  Pete said.  “Stuart, I’ll drag you along to satisfy your masters in MI-6, but keep your boys out of the way.”

               Alistaire scowled, but nursed his beer in silence.

               Later that evening, the three stood outside a shabby Glasgow apartment building. A misty rain was falling, and the light from the street lamps failed to penetrate far into the gloom.

               “Third floor, apartment 6.”  Doug said.  “Light’s on, somebody’s home.”  He looked at the grim-faced MI-13 men with their Ectoplasmic diffusers and Etheric pulse-rifles, and said, “…Why don’t Alistaire and I go up and talk to him.  If anybody in the building catches wind of you guys, they’re liable to call the police.”

               Wisdom quirked his mouth at this, but then gestured.  “All right.”

               As Doug and Alistaire walked up the stairs, Alistaire paused.  “Doug… Wisdom’s being too cooperative.  You pointed him to the next target, and he’s letting us take point?  Not his style.  Something’s fishy.”

               “I know.”  Doug said.  “I did some digging.  The May government’s got MI-13 in its crosshairs.  He’s got a lot riding on this.”

               “That doesn’t explain why he’s stepping back and letting us take point.  Just the opposite, really.”  Alistaire said.

               “Oh no?  You brought in an American contractor to help you crack this case.  If WE fail, it’s not MI-13’s fault.  If HE succeeds, MI-6 looks incompetent, and he suddenly has a defense of his budget that all but writes itself.”  Doug said.  “If we succeed, he makes a grand show of being essential support to other branches of British Intelligence.  He’s as cunning and as manipulative as Sam warned me he was.  But what choice do we have?”

               He knocked on the door, paused, and then knocked again.  “Hello?”  He called.  “Hello!?”  Then he frowned, and put his ear to the door.  “Something’s not right.”

               Alistaire produced a widget, and held it to the lock.  “Magnetic lockpick.”  He said.  The bolt on the door clicked, and he carefully pushed it open.

               Inside, the TV was on, but the the apartment was still.  But a coppery, dirty smell hung in the air.  Alistaire slipped inside, and then put his hand over his mouth.  “It’s been here, lad.  It’s his mum.  Ripped to shreds.”

               Doug stepped inside, and then paused.  “Alistaire,”  He hissed, grabbing for the man to pull him back toward the doorway, “It’s _still in here_!  Get out!”

               It came out of the kitchen, massive and black-furred, red-eyed, with wide, square jaws and teeth like steak knives, mouth slavering with bloody foam.  Curved claws clicked on the hardwood floor as it settled into a crouch and then sprang the length of the apartment without a word.

               Doug pulled Alistaire out of the way just in time, and the Barghest struck the wall, claws carving long furrows as it reoriented itself.  “Come on!”  Doug said, as they set off down the stairs.  The Barghest was hot on their heels, bounding down the stairs in great leaps.  Doug vaulted the rail, Alistaire went tumbling after him, and the two broke out of the front doors of the apartment building like a shot.

               The Barghest burst out after them.

               “All right boys,”  Wisdom said, “Ward trap activate on my mark… mark!”  When the Barghest touched down onto the pavement, three men standing equidistant from one another in a triangle shape each activated a sort of projector, which fired luminous energy, forming a sort of triangular cage around the creature.

               Alistaire turned.  “You managed to weaponize the signs and sigils of Merlin?”

               Pete crushed out his cigarette under his shoe.  “Bloody right we did.  We’ve got this bad boy locked down tight, now—all right, prep this ugly mother for transport and long-term—”

               The Barghest stepped through the ward.

               The word ‘containment’ died in Wisdom’s mouth with a choke.  Hotknives flared to life at the ends of his fingers.  “The rogue EE is loose,”  He said into a communicator, “Bring up the discorporation matrix.  Do it NOW—”  One of the MI-13 agents tripped as he backed off, and the Barghest lept onto him.

               “No.”  Wisdom said, flinging a hotknife at the creature, “Gerroffhim you ugly—”   The searing energy lanced through the creature and it recoiled, letting out a howl, before it rounded on Pete.

               “Didn’t like that, did you!?”  Pete said.  “Come on, reorient on me.”  He backed up, slowly.  “That’s right.”

               “Fire.”  Doug said, “It’s afraid of fire—"

               Alistaire looked around, and then said, “Hound of Tindalos protocol!   BRING OUT THE BLOODY FLAMETHROWERS, YOU KNUCKLE-DRAGGING GOBSHITES!”

               Another MI-13 agent took aim at the creature with a blaster rifle, which fired a bolt of pink energy, that blasted a hole clean through the Barghest’s mid-section.  “Got it--!”

               It turned away from Pete, as the hole in its innards closed, and then dissolved into vapor, flowing around and behind the woman.  “What—”  She turned, as it reared above her, and swatted her down with a paw and the sickening sound of crushing bone.

               When one of the men came up bringing a flamethrower, Alistaire grimaced and yanked it away from him.  “If you want something done right, do it yourself.  Don’t aim for the EE!”  He called, “Set up a screen and drive it toward the street!  It’ll have to discorporate and retreat before we drive it into the Ley Line and it gets torn apart!”

               He fired, spraying the ground in front of the Barghest with flame.  Wisdom joined him, hurling hotknives into the pavement in front of the creature, and other MI-13 agents joined them, laying down a wall of fire.   The Barghest reared back, and then backed up, briefly turning into vapor, burning with a dozen red eyes, before it resumed its form and backed up, step by step toward the street.  Before it stepped out into the road, it suddenly dissolved into black, oily smoke, and then into nothing.

               “Douse ‘em!”  Wisdom called, before he put his hand over his eyes.  “Damn it.  MEDIC!”  He turned to a man crouched over one of the fallen agents, who looked up, and shook his head.

               Pete closed his eyes.  “Fuck.”  He drew out a fresh cigarette and lit it.  “Fuck.”  He repeated.

               Doug set his jaw.  “I agree.  Fuck.”

               “What in the world was that,”  Alistaire said, “Your trap should’ve worked!  I can’t reason out what in the upside-ding-dong-down went _wrong_.”

               Pete said, “The EE got away and two of my men got killed while it did.  Reasoning’s for tomorrow, along with excuses and explanations.  Tonight, lads, I’m going to write down a few essentials, make a couple of calls, and then I’m going to get bloody _hammered_.  I had it.  God damn it, I _almost_ had it alive!”

               Later on, in the MI-13 operations base set up in an old flophouse hotel, Doug nursed a cup of pallid instant coffee, and stared into it.

               “You’re looking into that thing like you’re going to divine the future, Dougie,”  Alistaire said, “But all you’ll see waiting for you is bad instant coffee.”

               “He knew it was going to attack tonight,”  Doug said.  “He’d reasoned it out and he _knew_.”

               “Very likely,”  Alistaire admitted, “Pete’s as old a hand as I am at hunting snarks and boojums.”

               “That means he sent us in first.”  Doug said.  “Knowing we’d be in danger.”

               “An X-Man with pattern recognition and reality disturbance-sense powers and a man whose capabilities and instincts he knows well from our time together in Weird Happenings.  It was a good plan.  And his hunch played out.  You spotted the thing, got us out before it could kill us, and he was able to spring his trap without risking his men.  It would’ve gone off flawlessly…”  Alistaire mused.

               “…Except his trap didn’t _work._ ”  Doug said.  “Four people are dead and Pete Wisdom’s trap failed.”

               “And that’s the part that’s bringing me up short.  Merlin’s wards are as powerful and as well laid-out as the Seals of Solomon, lad.  Goblins, the _Sidhe_ , Black Dogs, Annis Hags… the old wizard accounted for anything you might conceivably find roaming the darkest crags and pits on this island.”  Alistaire said, scrubbing the back of his neck with one hand.  “So it shouldn’t have failed.”

               Doug put his fingers over his mouth.  “Alistaire… can you get me a set of bagpipes?”  Doug asked, his blue eyes steely.

               “In Scotland?  You might as well ask me if I can get you pizza in New York.”  Alistaire mused.  “What’re you thinking?”

               “If Merlin built wards to handle anything that might conceivably be found in the Isles… what if it’s not from the Isles at all?”

               “…Huh.”  Alistaire said, an eyebrow raising.

               “I’m going to make a couple of calls.”  Doug said. “First to Braddock Lighthouse, because we’re going to need Lockheed for this one.  Second, to a friend of Kitty’s and mine in the states.  She’ll be able to confirm my hunch, and if I’m right, give me the info I need to drag the real guilty party out into the light.  In the meantime, get me those bagpipes.”

               “All right, I have to ask,”  Alistaire said, “Why the bagpipes?”

               “I have a point I need to make to Wisdom.”  Doug replied.  “A point I intend to make at the butt-crack of dawn, like any true Scotsman would.”

               That morning, Doug walked into Pete Wisdom’s room.  He took in the mass of sheets and blankets wadded up around a human form.  Then closed his lips around the mouthpiece, puffed out his cheeks, squeezed, and blew.

               “FUCK FUCK AHHHHHHHHHHHH!”  Pete sat bolt upright in the bed.  “HOLY BLOODY FUCKING HELL!”  He rolled out of the bed and landed on the floor.  “Bleedin’ bloody CHRIST, RAMSEY!”  He waved his hand.  “Stop, STOP!”

               Doug ceased his droning, and passed off the bagpipes to Alistaire.  Lockheed was on the floor, clutching his belly, rolling and hissing with laughter.

               “What the hell was that for!?”  Wisdom said, clutching his head, and then he squinted.  “And what in the blue blazes is Satan’s purple handbag doing here!?”

               Doug sat on the edge of the bed, as Pete staggered to his feet.  “I made a call, and I know why your trap didn’t work.”  Lockheed flapped onto his shoulder.  “It’s not a Barghest.  It’s a _Daeva,_ a demon servant of the Elder God Ahriman.  One of the forms they can choose to take when they manifest is an enormous, black, wolf-like monster.”

               “Blew my mind when he told me.”  Alistaire said, clutching the pipes.  “But wait’ll you hear what else he’s deduced, Pete.”

               Doug ticked his chin up.  “A Daeva wouldn’t just appear in the United Kingdom.  It’s doing somebody’s bidding.  And with Illyana Rasputin’s help, I worked it out.  There was something connecting the refugees the Daeva was killing, and that something, was _magic_.  Something had manipulated the threads of their Fate.”

               “To what bloody end?”  Pete said.

               Doug grabbed a shirt off the floor, and threw it at him.  “It was so obvious, in hindsight.  A group of refugees flee Syria, overcoming risk, crisis and impediment, and they wind up in Glasgow – about as far from Syria as you can get.  But someone was helping them, turning the odds in their favor, but also making sure they all wound up in the same place.  Why?”

               Wisdom’s eyes narrowed.  “To make sure they were all handy when the time came to collect on the debt.”

               “That’s right.”  Doug said.  “Think about it.  To Muslims, sorcery is unclean.  But people in a war zone get desperate – they’re more inclined to take chances on things they’d normally shun.  Somebody came to each of these people and made them some kind of deal – magical aid in getting out of Syria safely, in exchange for payment to be rendered later.”

               “And I’m willing to bet when the time came to collect on the debt, they backed out.”  Pete said.  “…It’s a story as old as the grift.  One way or another, you’re gonna bloody pay.”  He looked up.  “What’s our next play?”

               “Merlin’s seals won’t work on a Daeva,”  Doug said.

               “…But Solomon’s will.”  Alistaire added.  “I’ve modified your projectors.”

               “But catching the demon won’t stop the killing.”  Doug said.  “You need to catch the sorcerer.  It might cost them time and treasure, but they’ll conjure up another ally.”  He pounded his fist into his open palm.  “And I think I have an _idea_.”

               “Right then.  I’ll follow your lead, Doug Ramsey— just one request.”  He pointed at Lockheed.  “Keep a good three meters between me and that menace, and for the love of God, don’t _point that thing at me_.”

               Later on, Wisdom approached Doug, privately.  “So I have to ask, Ramsey… why the bagpipes?  As acts of sadism go, it was inspired.  They’re still crashing around in my head.  But why?”

               “Simple.”  Doug said.  “Did it hurt?”

               Wisdom winced.  “You can bloody well believe it hurt!”

               “Good.  I’m tight with Kitty Pryde and Sam Guthrie, and maybe you extrapolated how I’d react from stories they’d told you about the person I was before I died, but that was a literal lifetime ago _._ I’m a mellow guy, Pete – pretty laid-back, all told.  But there’s a clockwork boy in here—”  Doug pointed to his head, “And he takes people apart as easily as you come up with curse word combinations to fill in the Daily Mail crossword puzzle.”  Doug leaned in.  “So if you ever, _ever_ fuck around with me like that again… remember how agonizing that was.”  He brushed past Pete and out the door.

His voice carried after him.  “And imagine it lasting for the rest of your damn life!”

               Pete Wisdom looked after Doug, and then he smirked, coldly.  “Show those teeth, lad.  _Attaboy._ ”

               Later that afternoon, Alistaire paused at the entrance to the mosque, and then said, “So an _Imam_ is on your list of people who’ve made a deal with this sorcerer?”

               “Makes sense to me.”  Wisdom said.  “The nose knows.”

               Doug looked up, and said, “Everyone has moments of weakness.”  He started inside.  “Hello?”  He called out.  “Sir?”  He paused, and then, in the entranceway, he shuffled out of his sneakers.  After a moment, Alistaire and Wisdom bent and removed their shoes.

               Alistaire gave Wisdom an odd look. 

“In another man’s house, you obey their rules.  S’just rude otherwise.”  Pete said.

In the prayer room, the Imam was bent low, his forehead to the ground.  He pushed himself up, and then got to his feet.  “May I help you?”

Doug paused. “ _Shaykh_ , we’re here to talk to you about the Black Dog Murders.”

The Imam was tall and rawboned, his hair cut short and his white beard worn long, with heavy brows and haunted eyes.  “…I see.  Are you with the police?”

“British intelligence.”  Pete said.  “We’re here to put a stop to this before anybody else gets killed.”

“Merciful Allah,” the Imam said, with a gusty sigh, “Could I be forgiven so easily?”  He gestured.  “…I’ll tell you everything.  Please, come with me.  I can’t… I can’t discuss such a filthy thing in the mosque.”

Outside, the Imam turned, and put his hand over his eyes.  Tension knit his brows.  “I watched my homeland turn into a hellhole.  As things got worse and worse, my faith wavered.  She came to me in the night after my mosque got hit by artillery fire—”  He squeezed his eyes shut.  “She said she could buy me safe passage out of Syria, but when I reached safety, she would come to me and I would need to pledge my soul to Ahriman.  She came to me a month ago and told me the time had come to collect—and I refused her.  I renounced the witch and her filthy god… rebuked her.  And she told me that one way or another, the blood debt would be paid.  Then other refugees started dying and I knew…”  He shuddered.  “I knew!”

“We’re not religious men.”  Doug said.  “We’re not here to offer damnation or salvation, sir.”

“Just to save lives.”  Wisdom added.  “Help us draw her out, Imam.”

The Imam closed his eyes.  “Is it unclean to court damnation if it saves another’s soul?  Very well.  She gave me the means to summon her if I’d changed my mind.  A packet of filth I was told to burn at midnight at the crossroads.  I buried it.”

“Well get your shovel.”  Wisdom said.

Midnight was cool and clear, and the moon hung ripe and full over the purple city sky.  The Imam grimaced at the packet, and set it down in the center of the road, gingerly, before he wiped his hands.  Then he withdrew a wooden match and struck it, before he set it ablaze.  “God protect us.”  He said, backing away.

Lockheed sneezed.

“Yeah,”  Doug said, “It reeks.”  He lifted his shirt over his mouth, as Alistaire and Pete held handkerchiefs to their faces.

The smoke billowed and spread, obscuring the sky, and laying over the crossroads like fog.  She appeared out of it, a low, hunched shape, dark-robed and veiled, with disturbing, snake-like eyes and long-nailed hands.  The Daeva walked behind her, its eyes burning like coals.

“ _Shaykh_.”  The witch said, “…You thought you could fool me.  Trap me?”  She laughed, a sound like breaking twigs.  “That these westerners would be your salvation?”

“Only Allah brings salvation, witch,” the Imam said.  “And if I lay my life down to save another… then I shall court Hell to do it, and trust in God’s mercy for all the things I’ve done.”

“Oh no.  Only Ahriman’s darkness awaits you.”  The witch gestured.  “Kill them.”

The Daeva lunged… and came face to face with Lockheed.  The demon paused.

The purple dragon opened his mouth, and belched a roaring gout of fire onto the beast.

The Daeva let out a scream, as its corporeal body caught fire.

“All right boys,”  Wisdom said, holding up a projector, “Box it!  World’s shittiest takeaway, coming right up!”

Alistair and Doug lifted their projectors, and together, hemmed the Daeva in.  It howled, and hurled burning flesh against barriers of light; it may as well have been striking granite.

               The witch snarled, and lunged for the Imam, a wavy-bladed knife in her hand.

               Doug tackled the sorceress around the waist, and they went down in a tumble, rolling.  The witch came out on top, and locked her hands around Doug’s neck.  “Interloping fool!”

               Wisdom’s fingers ignited into hotknives.  “Hey!  Boot!”  He flung them at her, sending her rolling, shrieking, and advanced, hotknives extended from his fingertips in burning claws.

               The witch raised her hands, and then met Pete’s eyes.  “Darkness take you—”  As she extended her fingers, a great, rolling shadow extended, enveloping Wisdom.

               Pete let out a strangled noise.

               The witch let out a triumphant cry… that suddenly cut off in a gurgle.  Her eyes widened.

               Doug had slipped up behind her unnoticed, and plunged the wavy-bladed knife into her back.  He withdrew it, and stabbed her again, and then a third time.

               The witch fell forward.  Her body collapsed into ashes as it struck the pavement, and her robes rotted away into scraps of fabric.

               Doug looked down at the knife, and then threw it away.  “It’s over.”  He said.  “…It’s done.”

               “Praise Allah,”  the Imam breathed.

               Pete’s gaze snapped back to reality.  “Bloody hag.”  He exhaled.  “She made me think my sister was choking me to death.”  He sifted through the remains with one foot.  “Not a lot left of her…”  Then he looked up at the Daeva, “But this is going to blow the Prime Minister’s peanut of a mind.”

               Alistaire shook his head.  “Well if the job’s done, I suppose I’ll be on my way.  Reports to file.”

               “Alistaire, _wait_.”  Pete said.  “Look.  This… this was a joint operation.  We saved a lot of lives tonight, and that was the promise we both made to Queen and Country… wasn’t it?”

               Alistaire looked up.  “Is that your way of saying you’d like to make amends, Peter Wisdom?  Well… you have my attention.  So long as you’re buying the drinks.”

               Pete gave a wry little grin.  “I think I owe Dougie here a lifetime’s worth of drinks.”

               “I’m a lightweight.”  Doug said, “But I might take you up on a couple of pints.”

               The Imam looked between the three, and then at the demon, and at what was left of the witch.  “…What lives the three of you must lead!  I thank you all.” 

               The smoke cleared, gradually.

               Later, in the pub, Pete Wisdom leaned back in his chair.  “Ramsey, I’d like to make you an offer.  Stay in the UK… come work for MI-13.  You’ve got a real future in intelligence work.  Or if you want to deal with the jobs that are a bit less squiffy, Alistaire could write your ticket for MI-6.”

               Lockheed grumbled, over his scotch.

               Pete snorted.  “Says you, wretched beast.  Whatever you just said.”

               Doug curled his fingers around his pint.  “I’m tremendously flattered.”

               “Before you say no,”  Alistaire said, “I’d like you to think about something, chap.  Your abilities make you not just a desirable intelligence asset, but an _invaluable_ one.  Organizations that get a good grasp of what your mutant power _actually does_ won’t be able to afford to leave you be.  They’ll feel obligated to either recruit you, or neutralize you.”

               “Which means they’ll kill you.”  Pete added.  “Now, Alistair and I have both agreed to doctor our reports to make it look like you’re a good profiler, but nothing superhuman… but eventually you’re going to have to deal with the reality that word’ll get out.  We can give you a platform to do some real good, and protect you from groups like Hydra and the KGB.”

               Doug looked into his beer.  “…I understand the risk.  But…”  He looked up, and his gaze steeled.  “I’m an X-Man.  I’ll live as an X-Man.  I’ve already died as one.  Thank you very much, but I’m going to have to reject your offer.”

               Pete sighed.  “I wish I understood why you were all so loyal to Charles Xavier.”

               “It’s not Xavier we’re loyal to.”  Doug said.  “Not really.  …It’s the future he envisioned, where we don’t have to live in fear, and we don’t have to buy our freedom at the price of segregation or secrecy.  A world where men like you don’t need to barter their skills to their government to try and save mutantkind from the meat grinder, Pete.  I know the sacrifices you’ve made better than you think I do.  That’s what we’re trying to do.  It’s bigger than any one man.”

               Alistaire’s eyebrows went up.  “He’s got you there, Pete.”

               Lockheed snorted.

               “So, Dougie,” Alistaire said, “Will it be back home, then?”

               “I’ve decided to spend a week at Braddock Lighthouse, and then go back.  Sam’s not doing so well – his marriage fell apart after the Ru’tai invaded New York.  He needs his friends to be handy.”

               Pete winced.  “Guthrie’s a good egg.  I—I don’t imagine he’d want to hear from me again, Doug, but tell him… tell him…”

               “Tell him Pete says hello.”  Alistaire said.  “And let him decide what to do with it.”

               “And—”  Pete said, “Well, I’d say tell Kitty I’m sorry she and Piotr didn’t work out, but I’m really not, lad.”  He drained his whiskey glass.  “She spared herself a lifetime of being treated like a blasted oil painting.”

               Doug drained his pint, slowly.  “No comment.”  He decided.  “I’ll send her your regards.  She’ll read between the lines on that one… anything else you want to say, you’ll need to tell her your damn self.”

               Lockheed laughed, and then grumbled at Doug.

               “Well, Lockheed,” Doug said, “I think Brian was right.  I need to start looking for home in people, not places… and if the home I knew no longer exists, then I’ll need to start building a new one by being in the lives of the people I love.”

               The dragon smirked, and raised his glass.  “Cheers, mate!”

               Pete turned his head, and his jaw dropped.  “You little purple sky rat!  I KNEW YOU COULD TALK!”

               Alistaire and Doug laughed, uproariously.

-Fin

              

**Author's Note:**

> I actually finished this story before the end of New Magus Saga, but had to wait until it was done to publish it. My knowledge of Excalibur isn't as strong as some other works, so I might have some details wrong, but that's what revision is for.
> 
> The song informing this story was Scythian's "Song of Sacrifice", found here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWNUgfyeFJ0
> 
> This also marks the beginning of the audience participation portion of Language X! I encourage my readers to suggest a character and a song to inform the next story!


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